Christine’s vote for best answer so far had come from a distinguished looking man showing a little grey around the temples and a fit body with an even head-to-toe tan. He’d tried out “definitely more than a handful, but absolutely nothing wasted.”
Even if he was several inches shorter than she was in her wedges, Christine was disappointed he hadn’t moved on to chat her up. Something about his smooth voice and that full body tan piqued her interest. Plus she liked older men, as two of her Mount Unity professors and a tutor had learned.
But not as old as the little chubby gnome with the denim paper-boy cap covering an obviously bald head. He came up with the attempt, and was slapped hard for violating the don’t-touch rule.
“Hello, we’re…here to scare the bees.” He offered, a small smile curling his lips.
Robin was confused. “Huh? Scare the bees?”
“If you say so.” Alternating, he poked each of her boobs with one extended finger on each hand several times in rapid succession. “Boo bees. Boo bees. Boo bees.”
His delighted cackle was cut short by the sharp crack of Robin’s full swing open palm, thrown like a hard topspin forehand in tennis. He looked like he might have a dislocated jaw the way he probed it gingerly as he scuttled away after he retrieved his hat.
It was amazing and disappointing how many guys tried just to fill in the blank with the simplest, coarsest failing attempts…
“Boobs.”
“Tits.”
And the coarse if not quite as simple…
“Backdoor love handles.”
“Mammalian protuberances.” Points for the Zappa reference, but nothing else.
“My next meal.” Yuck.
“Our baby’s first meal.” Double yuck.
“The world’s finest hot dog bun, ready for my foot-long.” More original, but even yuckier, since the fat slob with the world’s worst redneck tan delivered it like a line he’d been practicing since last year, and his current lack of pants made the foot-long suggestion particularly laughable. Literally laughable, as both girls had looked down in unison, seen a mushroom paler and less appetizing than any cave-grown fungus, and failed to hold back their audible amusement. Robin gave an unconscious shudder as she remembered him from last year, with almost exactly the same line and result.
Vern had stomped off after Troy (next meal) and Chuck (baby meal), his large pinkish (the sun had begun to shine through thinning cloud cover) belly jiggling. That left Jay alone, thoughtful and nearly petrified with fear. At least he tried to remain thoughtful, while alternating images popped in and out of his mind’s eye.
Perfect freckled cleavage framed in lace. Root beer-soaked fried mushrooms. Freckles. Mushrooms. At least the ruined mushrooms he saw weren’t Vern’s.
She was truly gorgeous. Not beauty contest, make-up and hairdo gorgeous. Natural, towel-dry-and-ready-to-go stunning radiance, especially with her hair shining even more resplendently in the recently-appearing sun’s rays. That wonderful smile always near the surface.
And her body! He couldn’t see freckles from here, but he could sure see nipples, pink and protruding but not too much. A belly that swelled that slightest just enough to lead the eye down to a short, shapely triangle of orange-red hair peaking out between her legs. Her legs were decidedly curvier and softer than the tall, slim beauty next to her. Creamy smooth legs that would be heaven wrapped around your hips or sliding softly over cheeks as your nose and mouth nuzzled closer to their moistening zenith.